Ross Nyman Brudenell was a man of passions and contradictions who lived across the boundaries of time. A romantic who often lost himself in a home project or a distraction, Ross wrote daily in leather journals, devoured history books and classic literature, and collected 17th and 18th century Americana and houses. But he also embraced modernity and technology: Ross was a pilot, a gadget guy, and an orthopedic surgeon. He was as confident in a waistcoat and top hat as hip waders, jeans, and a well-worn polo shirt, but always more comfortable in the latter. He was so soft spoken that we were compelled to lean in to hear him; and yet, he loved to tell stories and talk to folks from all walks of life—the quirkier, the better. No one was a stranger to Ross.

Ross's life began in Knoxville, Tennessee, on April 8, 1942. He was the second oldest in a family of four children, raised in Chattanooga. His father, Ross Sr., was an engineer with the TN Valley Authority, and his mother, Jane, was a homemaker. His older sister, Janet, nicknamed Puddin, died following a rabies bite when she was six and Ross was three, a traumatic experience for his parents that Ross would often recount. His younger brothers, Bill and Tom, were his fellow Musketeers, always up for pranks and antics, including exploding cherry bombs and gasoline in the street. When Ross was fourteen years old, his parents allowed him to go backpacking in the Smokey Mountains with a friend for two weeks unsupervised. That trip ignited his love of nature and adventure, and he would camp and hike in the Smokies throughout high school and college.

Ross stayed in his home state for his undergraduate degree, majoring in English at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. But his love of literature was soon rivaled by another passion: science and medicine. Toward the end of his studies, he decided to be a doctor and took the necessary prerequisites for medical school. After graduation, he married Dina Moore, also an aspiring doctor. When they completed medical school at the University of Tennessee, Memphis, the two newly minted doctors did a one-year internship at Upstate Medical University in Syracuse, New York, where their first child, Lisa, was born in 1968.

The Vietnam War was raging at the time, and one of Ross's professors told him there were two spots available for doctors with the U.S. Public Health Service in Alaska, considered federal wartime service. The young family moved to the stunning, isolated town of Sitka in the Alaska Panhandle, working with native communities. After years in the Tennessee heat, Ross fell in love with the cool weather, the dramatic mountains, the sea—where he kept a fishing boat—and the people. He and Dina had their second child, Ayn, in Alaska in 1971.

Despite his love of Alaska, Ross had unfinished business in the South where he did his orthopedic surgical residency at the Carolina Medical Center. He was attracted to orthopedics because he enjoyed working with his hands and fixing things, and he loved making people feel better. Five years later, with their residencies completed, Ross and Dina moved to Longmont, Colorado where he joined an orthopedic practice with a group of young doctors, and Dina was a practicing pediatrician.

Years later, Ross and Dina split up, and he met Diane Wiktorowski, a surgical nurse originally from Pittsburgh. Alaska beckoned once again and the couple moved to Anchorage where they worked together, and where they eventually married and had their sons, Steven and Jordan.

Ross had begun collecting antique furniture and housewares during his medical training and decided Alaska's housing stock was too young. So, he and Diane bought the Bradford-Higgins House—a disassembled First Period timber frame structure that once stood in Plymouth Colony—from a woman named Pete in Massachusetts. When Ross originally called her to ask if she had any houses for sale, Pete said she didn't have anything big enough for an Alaskan doctor. But Ross said, "I always felt like you should be able to touch the sides of your nest." A New England crew, trained to rebuild 17th and 18th century houses, drove the home's pieces up to Alaska in a convoy and put the house back together on the shores of beautiful Campbell Lake. It is the oldest house in the state.

Ross fell hard for his new passion project and brought the house back to life—always careful to preserve its historical integrity while taking advantage of state-of-the-art systems to keep it running in its new, harsher environment. As an insurance policy against Alaskan earthquakes, Ross had 20 huge, steel pilings driven into the ground to support his home. He would later get his pilot's license and install a lift for his Cessna 185 float plane in back of the house on the lake, which served as an airport. Sometimes flying was a means of transportation to a far-flung destination; sometimes Ross flew just for the love of it.

Sometimes with family and friends, sometimes alone, Ross embarked on countless adventures to fish, hunt and camp in the Alaskan wild to places like Katmai, King Salmon, and Eagle on the Yukon River. He would take the plane to remote locales to pick blueberries, and fish for salmon on the Kenai River where he once had a log cabin in Sterling, on Funny River Road.

In 1991, Ross had an accident with the propeller of his plane that sheared off three-and-a-half fingers on his left hand, a terrible incident that would end his career in operating arenas, although it didn't stop him from flying his plane or doing anything else he loved. Eventually he started to work again, now as a pre-op and post-op surgeon in Anchorage and later in Fairbanks, and he was well-suited to the more personal interactions with his patients. Ross would often run into former patients who were effusive in their appreciation for the care they received in his office. And one Anchorage doctor recalls that Ross would treat everyone, even those without insurance, before it was required by law.

In 2000, Ross married Jackie Robinson, an artist and educator who had moved to Anchorage from Massachusetts for her own adventure. Jackie loved Ross's free spirit, his gentleness and kindness toward other people, his deep voice and southern accent, his beard and signature round glasses. Ross welcomed Jackie's daughters Lalla and Katie into their lives, and both girls lived with them in Anchorage for a time. Together, Ross and Jackie explored Alaska, hosted winter solstice parties for their neighbors on the lake and continued to indulge their shared passion for antique collecting.

A major part of that collection involved the purchases of two 17th century homes in New England: the John Bliss House, a stone ender and one of the oldest houses in Newport Rhode Island; and a former tavern in Pomfret, CT that Ross loved dearly. But as Ross's Parkinson's became more of an impediment, he and Jackie sold their three antique homes with their steep, narrow stairs and moved to Green Bay, Wisconsin to be closer to Katie and her family.

Ross lived with the effects of Parkinson's for eight years. Over time, his deep voice grew quieter, and his legs failed him. He died peacefully on April 22, surrounded by his family.

Ross is survived by his wife Jackie, his children: Lisa, Ayn Altman (Mark Santora), Lalla Robinson, Katie Dubois (Brent), Steve (Victoria Fanslow), and Jordan; his grandchildren Silvarina and Josefina, Adler and Audrey, and Benjamin and Brooks. His is also survived by his brothers Tom (Lynn Sibley), and Bill (Ingrid), and his nieces and nephews. He will be missed by all who knew him and loved him.

A memorial service will be held on June 27 at 11 AM at Wequiock Presbyterian Church, 4014 Wequiock Rd, Green Bay, WI. Online condolences are welcome at www.PfotenhauerFuneralHome.com.